


Extra for SJ p riot fic

by Osprayhurricane



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 10:39:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18030176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osprayhurricane/pseuds/Osprayhurricane





	Extra for SJ p riot fic

 

  

Sherlock particularly enjoyed when the wiggling was against him… The friction between the fabric of his trousers and those jeans was very enticing. He had one very specific fantasy that they had not yet explored and he thought tonight might be a good time to broach the subject. It would have to be done in a specific way, because one thing that John had yet to do in bed was agree to be penetrated. Sherlock tried to telegraph his intentions as he ground his erection against the parting of John’s glutes, finding a special thrill when John pressed back into his pelvis. He decided to try to express his thoughts in a more seductive manner, with words, and he hoped it wouldn’t come off as creepy or manipulative or plainly lacking in any sexual appeal.

“There’s something I’ve been considering… our experience of each other’s bodies is… incomplete, John.”

“Meaning?” John breathed.

John honestly thought that anything Sherlock would suggest would get him fully hard. His damn bedroom voice always got him hard and heavy even if John topped. Not to mention having thrilling chases and cases completed had resulted in a few… incidents… where they humped each other or whatever they could do in a broom cupboard or toilet or closed space at Scotland Yard. If he was honest, John was surprised Sherlock hadn’t suggested doing it on Greg’s desk just to piss him off. Right now, though, the feeling of Sherlock rubbing up against his jean covered arse was incredible, and soon one of his partner’s hands moved down to massage his dick through his trousers, which caused him to moan.

Sherlock felt the moan go straight through to his pelvis and decided that more of his seductive speaking may result in a favourable outcome. He spoke lowly, breath touching John’s ear.

“You know how I dislike gaps in my knowledge, John, and I’ve been fantasising about this particular scenario for a while… I’ve never had the pleasure of penetrating you … fully. It’s something that I wonder about often… what your anal musculature will feel like around my penis… what your prostate feels like against something other than my fingers.”

“Jesus…” John moaned.

“Would you be amenable to such an experiment? I have the perfect setting in mind.”

“Tell me…”

“I’ve been picturing us on my chair… So I can see your face when you impale yourself on me for the very first time. Warm leather all around us and the ecstasy on your features when I brush that certain spot with my glans. What it will do to you... and how it will feel for me. I’ve often touched myself while sitting in that very chair imagining it.”

“That… that sounds…” John couldn’t even finish his sentence, it was all too fucking hot to process.

Sherlock could feel John tremble slightly, he moved his hand from where it had been caressing John’s penis through his jeans and he reached to undo the button before removing his hand and creating just enough of a gap between them that neither had the friction they both desperately needed. He needed to know that John was fully agreeing to do this, as it was a step they had never taken before.

He’s really fucking doing this now!? Was all John could think before he turned around and practically forced Sherlock to pick him up by jumping on him. It was automatic as Sherlock held John by his arse and carried him to the lounge while their mouths were joined in an incredibly heated kiss. He wasn’t going to lie, it felt kind of refreshing to give up control for once as (unless it was just foreplay) John usually took the lead when they had sex.

Their mouths were still furiously connected when Sherlock put John down in the lounge and began to divest him of his clothing. John allowed this before helping unbutton his shirt - it was the purple one, which Sherlock knew John found irresistible. John pulled his trousers off together with his pants in his haste and they parted mouths for a moment while both kicked off their shoes and freed their legs.

Once they were finally naked, John vaguely noticed a color difference in the usually black leather chair. When he got a better view, he saw that Sherlock’s navy silk robe was laying on the leather… where they’d be all over each other for god knew how long. He eyed Sherlock suspiciously.

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?” He asked with a smirk.

“I admitted to masturbating over this fantasy, John, we’ve long passed the planning stage.” Sherlock grinned with a naughty wink just before pulling John into his lap as he sat on the perfectly draped robe (it wouldn’t do to get all painfully stuck to the leather, as his own ‘experimentation’ had shown).

It just really hit John what he was about to do… he was going to have Sherlock fuck him in the arse. He still had some things to work through because of the damn masculinity obsession his dad had instilled when he was growing up, and having all those Tory raised assholes at school wasn’t helpful either. Back then, taking it up the arse was considered ‘faggy’ or ‘queer’, and now he was about to do it. He had gotten through most of the stigma around it, but now that it was about to happen… he didn’t know what to think.

Sherlock noticed John’s breathing change from his usual arousal to something more panicked. John’s upbringing must have been rearing its ugly head once more… that was the main reason that they had done everything but full penetrative sex with John on the receiving end. Sherlock’s heart sank a little, he’d thought it might finally be time, but he was not about to force John to do anything he didn’t want to. He pulled back and held John at a distance, looking carefully into his eyes. When John didn’t fully meet his gaze he said,

“You don’t have to, John, we can just carry on as usual instead.”

“No.” John said resolutely. “I have to get over this sometime, and… if it means doing something that you want to do, I’ll do this.” John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and gently kissed him before laying his head on his chest. If it was with Sherlock, he felt a little less…guilty about it (he’d have to discuss this with Terrence). “Let’s just… take it slow, yeah?”

“I won’t force you, I promise.” Sherlock said, just loudly enough for John to hear. He stroked John’s back admiring the smoothe planes of his muscles, until John looked up at him again.

John let out a breath, and silently nodded before he kissed Sherlock again, except with more carefulness, and love. It was more of an affirmation that he was willing to do what Sherlock wanted, it would just be a little hard for him to do. He hated that it was still a barrier in his subconscious, but he hoped it wouldn’t be after tonight.

Sherlock deduced from John’s reactions that he considered this almost a form of treatment for the stigma he still carried with him and he wanted to help John, but he also wanted it to be pleasurable for both of them. He stared deeply into John’s eyes and said,

“I love you, and I always will.”

If they weren’t about to have sex, John swore he would have cried from that… but it wasn’t the right time. Instead he smiled.

“I love you too.”

Taking that as confirmation, Sherlock removed the tube of lubricant that was wedged between the cushions, placing it in view so as not to shock John later. They shared another deep kiss and both of their groins reacted, looking more invigorated than when the panic began. Sherlock stroked them both together eliciting an intense feeling of intimacy and togetherness. John’s pupils blew wide and his breathing was the right kind of ragged for Sherlock to take the next step. He lubricated his fingers and after bringing their penises together with the lubricant on, he slid his hand around. He had stimulated John’s prostate manually before, but not from this angle and he was glad to be taller, because his hand just reached John’s anus comfortably. He started as usual, running his finger around the rim, feeling the muscle tremble. He applied more lubricant behind John’s back then put it down and stroked them together once more. Sherlock gently inserted the point of his forefinger into John’s tight ring of muscle and was accepted up to the first digit.

He knew the preparation would take some time so he decided to try talking to John again in between kissing and nipping his neck, he told him how much he enjoyed it when John was open and he could feel his muscles around his fingers… he kept up a low rumble of talk about their past experiences and how he looked forward to this new one and how all the sensations were going to be new to him.

John had felt this before, fingers weren’t overwhelming. The fact that Sherlock was doing that in a normal way was comforting and didn’t make him feel overwhelmed like he had been before. With every kiss and every stroke, he felt the lust coming back and the love he had for his detective breaching the surface. It was what he needed for this to happen… and that voice had always gotten him going. He had gotten jealous/aroused a few times when Sherlock had to seduce a few women on a case using that same voice. It was especially awkward because he was wearing a wire and John had to make an excuse to put the clipboard over his crotch. It was the most confusing and weird erection he’d ever had. Thoughts of that case immediately ceased when a third finger was added to the mix and John felt a jolt of pain from it. He hadn’t ever felt that full, but it also hurt.

Sherlock felt John stiffen when his third finger probed into John’s anus. He realised it was causing John pain. He removed it slowly and used his other two fingers to make a scissoring motion that would open John up a bit more. He pumped his fingers in and out a few times and ensured that he brushed John’s prostate on one of those passes, the little frisson of the muscle had always soothed his pain when he was being filled. He hoped it worked for John too, because he had to be more open if this was going to be pleasurable for both of them.

“Mm…” John moaned. “Okay… okay do three.”

Sherlock hummed in appreciation and happily obliged after adding a bit more lubricant. John started to push back on his fingers as Sherlock captured his mouth in another searing kiss. John was so close to being ready for him, he felt even more blood rush to his groin. They were grinding together, both writhing and moaning into the kiss. Sherlock’s hand reached back into the cushions where he withdrew a foil packet, he nudged John with it, raising an eyebrow. John’s lips never left his as he shook his head. Sherlock was secretly thrilled. He slowly removed his fingers and lifted John so that the tip of his penis was aligned with John’s entrance. He held him there, waiting.

This was it… Sherlock was about to penetrate him for the first time. Just getting to this point was an emotional journey more so than when John did it to Sherlock, but he was ready. He felt like he could do this even with that tiny bit of his upbringing telling him not to. As slowly as he could, he started to sink down onto Sherlock’s cock. It took a little force to get the tip in, but once it was, it was a jolt of both pain and pleasure going through his own body. The only problem was that the pain was somewhat overshadowing the pleasure, so he had to pause and start to breathe through it. He was clutching the back of the chair with a vice-grip, and it took what felt like an eternity for the pain to fade away enough to allow more of Sherlock’s cock in. He could see Sherlock was worried and then his hands were gripping John’s hips as if to try not to come on the spot. He tried to go further down, and he could only go a little ways more before he had to shut his eyes and clench his teeth. How the hell had Sherlock not been writhing in pain from this!? He felt like he was being split in half!

The brush of Sherlock’s glans over John’s most private area was enough to drive all the blood from his cerebral cortex. As John descended, more and more parts of Sherlock’s brain seemed to go offline. John had his most sensitive parts in a hot vice grip of pleasure and endorphins were already beginning to flood his system. The feeling was very much like the rush of cocaine as it first entered his bloodstream, but that rush was suddenly interrupted. The part of Sherlock that was still capable of observation noticed John’s clenched teeth and complete change in breathing - mostly that he wasn’t… He gripped John’s hips to stop him from impaling himself further because John was obviously in pain. Had Sherlock not prepared him enough, was John panicking? He could hardly even think with how tight John’s muscles were squeezing him.

“Breathe, John, it helps, and if you want to stop, just… just tell me.”

“I know…” John said through clenched teeth. “I don’t…. Don’t think I can take any more.”

“Whatever you want, John, we can… stay here… it’s ok.”

“I think that… mmm… would be best.”

“You’re in control in this position, John, I won’t move unless you want me to.”

“Okay.”

Sherlock pulled John in for a kiss, careful not to move where they were joined. He noticed that John’s erection had started to flag a bit, but even the slight movement involved in reaching each other’s lips produced a new round of sensations for Sherlock and he remained hard despite his worry over his partner. John seemed grateful for the kiss and Sherlock suspected it had helped his pain. A minute later, John moved down a bit more, Sherlock wasn’t sure John even knew he had done it, but clearly he was relaxing. Sherlock moaned into John’s mouth and again John slid down to take a bit more of him.

Well it was obvious that one of them was getting pleasure out of this, and it was most certainly not John. It was still excruciating, and he just stopped moving. He didn’t dare to move because it was incredibly painful to even shift to kiss Sherlock. He kept his eyes shut as he tried to will his body to relax. He knew he was starting to get soft, and who could blame him? He needed to be more gentle with Sherlock the next time they had sex because fuck, did this hurt! John decided that maybe this was all he could take in at this point, so he started to move back up. It stung, but it wasn’t as bad as when he was first breached. He heard Sherlock gasp in response so obviously he was doing something right.

John moved upwards and it caused all sorts of neurons to fire and misfire in Sherlock’s brain, not to mention his body. He gasped at the sensation, but he could still feel the tension in John’s body. He let go of one of John’s hips and took him in hand, stroking lightly with his long fingers until he felt a reassuring twitch. John sank back to where he had been before and Sherlock began to worry about whether his thigh muscles were tiring and inadvertently causing him to take too much of Sherlock again.

It took a while, but John started to actually relax. He in no way thought he could take more of Sherlock inside him, but he felt like he could start trying to enjoy this. He started to move with more of a rhythm yet that one spot that should have sent sparks coursing through his veins was always just out of reach. The penetration felt good in itself, he just needed to go a little deeper. He could tell Sherlock was trying incredibly hard to not just thrust up. John couldn’t exactly blame him since the first time he ever had penetrative sex, it was fucking incredible. He started to move a bit faster and Sherlock started to moan. He had to know how far he’d gotten.

“H-how much is in there?”

“I th-think just over half. I’m not going to l-last much… ahh… longer.”

Sherlock wanted to take care of John too. He knew that if this continued, that was not going to be the outcome. He stopped John’s hips once more and urged him slowly upwards until he was completely off of Sherlock. He put John down in his lap in a way that his rear was not touching either of Sherlock’s legs, instead he stroked him to full hardness, handed over the lubricant and simply said,

“Switch?”

John was actually relieved that Sherlock was letting him stop. He didn’t know how much more he could have handled with the way things were going. He’d have to ask Sherlock for tips on how to handle being penetrated later on because fuck, that hurt. They decided on Sherlock bending over his leather chair with John behind him. The awkward height difference made Sherlock have to bend his knees a bit, but they managed. The preparation went faster with Sherlock than with John, and it made him feel a bit better knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t be in pain like he was. Soon Sherlock was pushing back onto John’s fingers begging to be filled, but John didn’t know if he wanted it bare or with a condom like they usually did.

“So… do you want a condom or…?” John asked awkwardly.

Sherlock gave him a strange look over his shoulder,

“You know I like to feel you, John.” Especially now , he thought, feeling as insecure as he was with their ‘mishap’. Yes, condoms made cleaning up easier, but he couldn’t handle anything being between them right now.

“Alright.”

John lubed up his cock and lined himself up with Sherlock’s arsehole. He didn’t want to start hard and fast, or make it about lust. He wanted Sherlock to feel him, wanted him to know that despite what had just happened, he still loved him. Very slowly, John breached his detective and they both gasped at the initial intrusion. It was always intense the first moment John was inside Sherlock, and it only increased as they continued.

Sherlock was happy to be sharing this connection with John, though he still felt a little incompetent and if he was truly honest with himself, disappointed at the recent failure of his fantasy. He could sense John was being gentle, perhaps because he had been unable to endure the stretch, but Sherlock was feeling very confused by the whole encounter and didn’t know if he wanted to be handled with such care or just buggered silly.

John kept going deeper and deeper, and soon he was fully seated inside Sherlock. It was so tight even after four years of doing this, and just as incredible every time. He started to slide out, then he pushed back in. He took his time so he could feel every twitch of muscle, all of the slickness, just every sensation he could from Sherlock. It was something he knew he’d never tire of.

Sherlock enjoyed the sensation of being filled, as much as he had over the last four years, he felt every bit of John and every tiny movement and was soon close to the edge again. John adjusted their position so that he would brush against his prostate and Sherlock yelped.

John picked up the pace but tried to keep it loving. He started whispering things in Sherlock’s ear about how much he loved him, he draped himself over Sherlock’s back so that he was practically humping Sherlock’s arse and they could be incredibly close. It just was perfect, so perfect for after the horrid excuse of an attempt at sex earlier. John could feel himself getting closer and Sherlock’s noises were starting to signal an orgasm. He started to fist Sherlock’s cock in time with his frantic thrusts and soon Sherlock was coming, his muscles started to contract around John’s cock and it made John come too. He held Sherlock so close to him that he was sure he would leave some bruises.

Sherlock finally came and realised how long he had been restraining himself, it was quite the explosion and all over his dressing gown, which had apparently served its purpose after all. Hot on the heels of his own orgasm, he felt John pulse inside him and then a shot of warmth was released into him, filling him up with John’s love, a sentiment he was currently also trying to transmit by bruising Sherlock’s ribs. John was draped over him like a blanket and he knew this was John’s way of apologising for earlier. He felt the warmth drip down out of him as John began to soften and his energy seemed to drain with it. He had some conflicting emotions to deal with, frustration and then sudden satisfaction and a profound sense of being loved, while he also couldn’t help feeling disappointed. There was far too much going on in his head, too many emotions clouding his judgement.

He picked up the robe and held it to his entrance as John pulled out. It was a practiced move that caught most of the spill and John used a corner of it to clean himself too. Once that was done, Sherlock kissed the top of John’s head and made his way to the bathroom to wash himself. He locked both of the doors as a clear signal that he wanted to be alone. He showered and got ready for bed. John looked confused when he came back into the bedroom carrying their discarded clothes. He was not used to being shut out, and Sherlock felt bad for having done so, but he had a head full of thoughts and a terrible weariness that dragged him straight to his side of the bed, where he promptly fell asleep before John had even finished his turn in the bathroom.

 

 

 

“And?” There was an edge in Sherlock’s voice. 

John turned sharply. "Pardon me, I forgot for a moment that the entire _fucking_ world revolved around you." 

Suddenly Sherlock was in his face. "You _need_ something to revolve around.  You are _incapable_ of creating meaning in an ordinary life on your own, I could see that from the first hour I spent with you.”  He was nearly spitting. “I hope for your sake that your next flatmate is a desperately lost cause so that you can spare yourself some years of aimless drifting.”  Sherlock’s voice had risen loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to hear.

"Fuck you, Sherlock,” John hissed. Something was fraying inside of him, pushing out of his chest and up his throat. "You are a cancer in the life of every person who knows you.  I wish that I didn’t know you.  I wish to God I’d never _met_ you-”

A deafening pop startled him and John watched as the pieces of the of the mug Sherlock had hurled onto the floor skittered across the wood.

When John finally looked back up into Sherlock's face, the expression he saw clearly reflected froze him to his spot.  

For long moments after Sherlock’s bedroom door had slammed shut, John remained where he was and stared at it, breathing heavily, his mind turning one fact over and over again.

_He hates me._

The thought made John oddly jittery.  No.  Not jittery.   _Giddy._

He sat down in his chair and rubbed his eyes before steepling his hands in front of his face. 

_Just because you make each other miserable doesn't mean anything._

He pressed his thumbs hard into the bridge of his nose.

 _Yes it does_ , a small voice whispered to him.

The giddiness returned and he viciously attempted to ignore it, suppress it, until he realised it'd gone dark outside and he could hear rain.

He looked up in the direction of Sherlock's room again, his heart hammering.

_Don't._

But he was already getting out of his chair.  

Terror whited out his mind as he pushed Sherlock's door open, his hand shaking a bit on the knob as he pulled it shut behind him.

Sherlock was a dark, silent shape against the headboard.

John took careful steps towards the mattress and sat down on the edge; the rain had picked up outside and now tapped loudly against the window panes.

“I didn’t mean,” John began in a high, thin voice, then stopped and tried again.  “You’re not...” John trailed off and put his hand on his face, squeezing his eyes shut tight enough to see bursts of color. “I don’t want to leave.” The last part fell out of him in a rushed whisper. 

Everything in the room took on a surreal quality as John waited for Sherlock to respond.

Sherlock didn’t say a word. 

John jerked upwards off the bed, but Sherlock’s hand closed around his wrist in an iron grip and pulled him back.

John moved towards him before he realised what he was doing, crawling back onto the mattress and touching him clumsily, an involuntary sound slipping out when Sherlock’s mouth covered his.

John was pushed onto his back and as Sherlock nimbly unbuttoned his shirt, John fumbled with the buttons on Sherlock’s before working open his trousers, pulling all of Sherlock’s weight on top of him as Sherlock struggled to get John's undershirt over his head.

_You’ll never be able to leave._

Sherlock's heavy hips began dragging over John’s, and John grit his teeth.

_You could move to Australia.  You could never speak to him again.  But you'd still be here._

Sherlock’s prick stiffened and John groaned into Sherlock’s mouth, clinging to him. 

_This is a room with no door._

Sherlock's mouth attached to John’s neck, and John's eyes closed as his head dropped back onto the pillow.

_But not for him._

John opened his eyes, going a bit still, even as Sherlock moved his mouth sloppily down John’s chest.

_He’ll get bored._

Sherlock viciously worked John’s pants and trousers down and off of him and then he was hovering over John again, staring down in the faint light into his eyes, touching his face.  

_And what will you do when that happens?_

John’s vision blurred and he abruptly rolled over onto his stomach.  Sherlock was completely still behind him.

John took a deep breath and reached blindly back for Sherlock’s hand, tugging it to no avail. He tugged again, a bit more forcefully, and Sherlock’s hand went stiff in his grasp.

“It’s going to hurt you.” 

John heard the muted panic in Sherlock's voice and ran his thumb gently over the inside of Sherlock's wrist.  “I know.”  

Later, when the head of Sherlock's cock was inside of him, John found himself pushing back too quickly even though the pain made him gasp.  He wanted the pain.  When his arse finally touched Sherlock's groin, he felt Sherlock adjusting his slippery hands on John's hips before moving again.  As they started fucking, the pain fell away, leaving behind a blind and senseless need that compelled John to reach back to feel Sherlock's hands, his knees, his legs, any part of him within reach, any part that John could touch-

Suddenly Sherlock pulled John upright, gripping him tightly around his ribs, his chest hot against John's back.  

John felt like he was being cut wide open.

“Don’t leave.” Sherlock’s voice was a choked whisper in his ear. 

For a moment John could not speak.  His nose and eyes stung sharply, and when he blinked, it made his eyelashes wet. “I won’t.” 

Sherlock’s hold on him tightened.  

_But you will._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sherlock worked his way down John’s body with feverish kisses, not lingering as much as he usually liked, but eager to get to his goal. He grabbed a pillow and placed it under John’s hips as he reached them, simultaneously lifting him up towards his lips. With the pillow strategically placed, Sherlock lowered his mouth slowly down John’s shaft and back up. He could hear John mutter the words ‘oh fuck’ and his lips curled up in a smile around his penis. Sherlock opened the lube as he worked his way down again, kissing and licking John in a teasing way. He made sure that John was aware of him lubricating his fingers by trailing them delicately over John’s testicles. The answering gasp told him he was welcome to enter. With a patience he had learned over years of receiving this kind of gentle care, he traced the outer rim of John’s hole. It quivered at his touch and he gently slid the tip of his forefinger in, feeling the contraction of the ring of muscle. That small squeeze was enough to make his own penis twitch in excitement and anticipation of that enveloping warmth.

John felt a bit nervous, but he knew that he’d be able to take all of Sherlock. He had been able to take the entirety of the dildo three times before they had gotten to this point, so the nervousness just irritated him. Those nerves were gone in a flash when Sherlock’s index finger entered him. John gasped at the intrusion and held onto the covers to ground himself. Usually when he did this to himself, it felt good, but not this good. It was probably a function of the fact that this was Sherlock doing this to him, and this time John was ready. It was just so intense for this to finally be happening.

Sherlock allowed his finger to venture further in, and even though this was familiar territory, the outcome would be very different to when he usually stimulated John’s prostate. He couldn’t help but moan at that thought. There was a dangerous mix of hormones in his brain, part of him wanted to become very sentimental but other urges were warring with those to be allowed to take what they wanted. He reversed the trajectory of his earlier kisses until he once again met John’s mouth. As he moved his finger in a circular motion, he whispered,

“John… you are so beautiful.”

John felt… he didn’t know how to describe it. Sherlock wasn’t good at talking dirty (they had figured that out very early on), but to hear him say that at this moment… it made him form a lump in his throat. Instead of responding with words, he pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. It wasn’t entirely hungry or lustful, it also had deep emotion and love packed into it. When he felt Sherlock brush over his prostate, he gasped out of the kiss and held Sherlock in a vice grip. A bit of fear started to worm it’s way into the back of his mind and he hated himself for it. This was Sherlock , this was his fiance , why the hell was he getting so nervous?

“Can we get under the duvet?” John asked in embarrassment.

He knew the request was stupid. They only really had sex under the duvet if it was cold, but this was… he guessed psychological. He wanted to feel secure and as close to Sherlock as possible, the duvet would partially ensure that.

Sherlock recognised the request for what it was: a primal need for security. And there was absolutely nothing Sherlock would deny John at this moment.

“Of course, whatever you want, John.”

Sherlock gently removed his finger and the pillow so that he could lift John, at the same time as John would cover them with the duvet - there had been some cold winters in 221B and warmth at times trumped other primal needs. John settled in and Sherlock heard him stifle a sigh of relief. John lifted up for the pillow to be replaced and for a minute, Sherlock just held him, their bodies pressed together under the warmth of the duvet.

“I’m here with you, John… I believe we just made that official.”

Sherlock tried to temper the sentiment with a little humour, but what he mostly felt at saying that was pure joy. He hadn’t realised what effect a seemingly silly tradition like engagement would have on him.

John hadn’t expected this to get as emotional as it already was. It was just… it was almost too much, however John wouldn’t back out now. He finally had Sherlock with him doing this, John himself was ready, and it had taken almost a decade just to get to this point. The soldier simply nodded and kissed Sherlock again to hopefully convey that he wouldn’t be afraid as long as they were together. Then he whispered,

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sherlock replied as he added more fingers and prepared to enter his lover. “Condom?” He asked.

“N-not tonight.”

Satisfied with this prospect, Sherlock added a probably unnecessary amount of lubricant, aligned himself with John’s entrance and gently parted his cheeks as his glans nudged at John. He pushed in slowly, feeling that delicious tightness that he had experienced only briefly before, and noted that John’s breathing hadn’t become harsh as it had on the previous occasion. John was breathing the same way Sherlock would when he was penetrated as he pushed inside further. He moved slowly, he watched John’s reaction all the way and paused as he reached the point they had before when it had all become too much for John. Sherlock knew exactly where they had been connected up to before, it was seared like a brand on his skin now that he had allowed the door to unlock.

The main thing John noted from this was that it didn’t hurt as much as it had before. The last time they did this, it burned like he was being torn in half. This time… it just felt right, and like he had done it before in a weird sense, just not with Sherlock. He took a moment to just look into Sherlock’s eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust. Those eyes had seen more than anyone could ever dream of, could see details in people everyone else would miss, and now they were looking lovingly at him. John had known he was a lucky man from the day he stepped foot in Baker Street, and his whirlwind of a life brought him to this moment. It was just perfect.

Sherlock checked John for any signs of discomfort (putting his own intense lust aside as much as possible) before pushing gently past that point. He couldn’t help but gasp as new areas of himself connected with John’s tight warmth. He kissed any part of John that he could reach without moving too fast.

“You’re my world, John,” he said in such a deep baritone it even surprised him.

John couldn’t help but gasp because of how deep Sherlock’s voice went and the fact that he was moving even further into him. He knew he would be run ragged by the end of this, but he didn’t care. He was absolutely and positively in love with the man inside of him, and everything happening there was the embodiment of his love. Eventually Sherlock was fully inside of him, and the detective paused. His breath was already ragged, and so was John’s, but more from the sheer emotions he felt in that moment. He pulled Sherlock down for another kiss and held him close, trying to show just the depth of his love for his fiance.

Sherlock pulled back slowly only an inch before his first small thrust. He wasn’t even breathing as he watched John’s reaction. The small amount of friction felt exquisite, and it seemed like John was managing it well, trembling slightly. Their eyes were locked together, and they breathed as one. Sherlock felt entirely overwhelmed by the force of the chemicals exploding in his brain and the intensity of the physical sensations. There was also an unexpected rush of pure joy and love for the man he was seated in.

John gasped from the first thrust, and his legs trembled at the intense sensation a simple, tiny thrust was causing. He held onto Sherlock like his life depended on it, but more so to keep himself together. Everything he was feeling both emotionally and physically was almost too much to handle, but he would keep going. It wasn’t overwhelming in a negative way, it was overwhelming in the most amazingly fantastic way possible. Sherlock was inside him, a thought that just a month ago gave him anxiety, and yet they were actually doing it. Another thrust, and this time John moaned softly.

“Sherlock.” He whispered.

Sherlock could hardly manage an audible “John”. His voice was so low the sound was almost subsonic, more felt than heard, but he knew that John had felt it when goosebumps raised the blonde hairs on his chest. His next thrust was further out, each time increasing the withdrawal incrementally until he was almost fully out. All the while, he could tell John was enjoying the motion but holding back the noises he wanted to make. His face was buried in Sherlock’s neck and his mouth was shut tight. They made love in a near reverent silence, pressed as close as possible. As the rhythm grew comfortable, Sherlock could feel John open his mouth to say something.

“Sherlock.” He half whispered. “Can we - ng - change posi - ah - positions?”

Sherlock really hadn’t expected that. A different position would usually go against John’s ingrained sense of masculinity. He hesitated, unsure what to do. He didn’t want John to have any negative associations with this memory -- he certainly wouldn’t have. Every second of this that his brain was managing to process was going straight into his mind palace, he was desperate not to ruin the moment.

John knew what Sherlock was thinking, and he was positive that he wanted this. Just from using the dildo and testing out which position felt comfortable, he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of with his detective. The blanket helped, but the fact that it was Sherlock helped even more. He looked Sherlock in the eye, then leaned up and kissed him gently.

“Please.”

Sherlock sensed John’s sincerity so he pulled out. Unsheathing himself completely from John felt uncomfortably lonely for a minute, but they soon rearranged themselves so that Sherlock was pushing back into John from behind.

The soldier definitely felt it go deeper from behind and he gasped when Sherlock was fully inside him again. Somehow, they managed to keep the blanket over them (Sherlock was almost completely draped over him), and that was a great comfort. John was barely keeping the noises at bay as Sherlock moved again at their previous pace. It wasn’t that he was ashamed to make noises, it just felt a bit embarrassing. He usually could make just the right noises or say the right phrases to get Sherlock off, but now he had no control over it.

Sherlock was buried to the root inside of John, closer than he’d ever felt possible. John seemed to be making quite the effort to minimise sounds, so Sherlock placed a hand over John’s heart to reassure him.

“No one is listening to us, John. Let me hear you.”

John held onto Sherlock’s hand, but shook his head.

“Embarrassing.” John breathed.

Sherlock’s curls slid across John’s back as he shook his head and stilled inside John for a moment. He had fantasised about the sounds John would make if this ever happened, he wanted a catalogue of mental recordings for his collection.

“Let yourself feel it, holding back detracts from the experience.”

John took a deep breath, and knew he was right. So he nodded, and held onto the headboard with his free hand.

“Okay.”

Sherlock began to move again, allowing himself a groan to show John that there was nothing to fear. As he increased the pace he felt John pressing back into him, wanting to take more of him and finally beginning to make small grunts and moans. It was better than listening to Beethoven knowing he was making John sound like that.

He had to admit that not holding back the sounds definitely let him feel more of the sensations. John’s mind wasn’t in another place, all he could think and feel was Sherlock. Without much warning, he felt Sherlock brush up against his prostate and John gasped at the shock it sent through him. The combination of Sherlock filling him and brushing up against his prostate was a mind-blowing experience.

“ Fuck .”

Sherlock huffed out a noise of agreement, his brain too concerned with the jolt that had just gone through John, he was unable to form words. He found the same angle and felt John shiver at the pleasure. It was incredible to be on the giving end, he felt every quiver of muscle against his shaft and the friction on his glands was bringing him rapidly to a crescendo.

He reached a hand around to grip John and tried to match the pace of his thrusts even as they began to lose rhythm, Sherlock’s mind trying to keep the explosion at bay. He waited as long as possible before he came stifling a yell only by burying his mouth against John’s neck, even then it came out as a loud muffled “John”. His release seemed to trigger John’s and the muscles contracting around him kept him hard as John shot his ejaculate into the sheets.

John felt Sherlock come inside of him, hot pulses of warmth coated his insides and it made him shiver from sensation. He moaned loudly as he came in hot spurts onto the bed. If he thought the first time they had penetrative sex was the best orgasm ever, he was sorely mistaken now. Having Sherlock inside of him while he came was so much more intense than anything he had experienced in bed before. It felt like his heart had grown and blossomed into something words couldn’t describe.

They slumped back into a sitting position , with John on Sherlock’s lap, their bodies slick with sweat and pressed together, their hands still clasped over John’s heart. Sherlock was still inside of John, and felt himself soften as he gasped,

“John - you are everything, in my blood and my bones, I -- I couldn’t exist without you.”

John couldn’t even respond since he was still exhausted. He had no idea how Sherlock could still speak after that. Instead of responding with words, he squeezed Sherlock’s hand as an invitation to continue.

“I was… barely living before we met, I doubt I could have continued to live like that. You… gave me something more, something I never knew I needed… You found my heart and it has always been yours… long before I realised it was happening. I -- I was yours and you were mine .”

No, you’re not crying right now! John was doing his best not to cry at that moment because the same was true for him. He wanted to say so much but couldn’t find the right words to express it. If there was a way to telegraph his emotions, he would do it in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t win the battle against the tears.

Sherlock felt John’s breath hitch and tears fell on their joined hands. He never wanted the moment to end. Sherlock knew he had to move them to lie down before they both collapsed. He maneuvered them onto the pillows, covered them with the blanket and they fell asleep as his glands came free of John’s hole.

 

 

 

 

"You don't have to go through with this you know." John's voice is low, giving away his  squirting a large amount of lube onto his fingers even as he says this. 

"I want to though." 

"I know you want to but you need to know you don't have to, Sherlock."

"That doesn't make any sense, John? Look, I want this. You've been gracious and let me do all the topping. I've been working up with bigger and bigger dildos and yesterday I was stretching myself with an alarmingly monstrous one."

"Monstrous?" John chuckles.

Sherlock's face blushes crimson. "Well, I saw you, and I didn't...didn't want to be hurt."

John gives a wicked smirk, "You are delicious when you're shy I can't wait to make you writhe." John's voice rumbles with a guttural beat that echoes right down to Sherlock's very core. 

John leans over and bites hard on Sherlock's bottom lip, causing the younger man to yelp, and before he knows what's happening John sinks lower, bites his protruding sensitive collar bone, and further down, and bites one of Sherlock's pink nipples until it turns lush and swollen and peaked and red, and Sherlock writhes and sobs, needy and in pain-pleasure, his lips and nipples starting to burn with the over-attention paid to them, making Aheeloco squirm simply under the cool air hitting them. 

John pulls back suddenly. "All you need to say is stop to get me to do so, Sherlock." 

He can't quite 

"Aahh!" He keens, eyes widening as he watches the soldier lick all the way down his smooth chest and belly and then he stops.

John sits back and looks at Sherlock, gasping, flat on his back, squirming, thighs spread obscenely wide for John to lie between them, looking like the most beautiful debauched angel John has ever seen. 

 

 

John’s broad hands come to his ass cheeks, giving the globes a hard squeeze before prying them open 

John was sitting up, back propped against the headboard and thighs splayed obscenely wide for Sherlock to lie between them, looking like the most gorgeously debauched thing Sherlock had ever seen. When he finally let John come, John’s cock and balls and perineum were entirely slick with saliva and precome, and John was sobbing at the ceiling, head tipped back and hands fisted tightly in the sheets. As he started coming his sobs turned to panting cries, sounding so lost and helpless that Sherlock grabbed one of his tightly bunched fists, wanting to steady him as John’s cock twitched and spurted against Sherlock’s tongue and he shuddered uncontrollably.

Afterwards John _melted_ against him, curling into Sherlock’s arms and shakily whispering, ‘Thank you… thank you…’ into his neck until Sherlock had to hush him with kisses that tasted of sex and himself.

John spreads his ass and touches a broad fingertip to the tiny pink hole there. It’s warm and wet and it makes gentle rubbing and circle motions against the rim, tapping every now and then against the tight little pucker, teasing. Sherlock is caught between his want to push back against it and the fear of the pain if he does. John stops and quickly adds more lube but before the finger returns John swallows him down in one sure movement. 

“John!” Sherlock cries out. His back arches off the bed but it doesn’t deter John in the slightest. He sets a quick, hard pace with his mouth and tongue, sucking and hollowing his cheeks and ... Sherlock’s world of happy pleasure suddenly snaps away in a acute burst of pain as John pushes that finger inside the tight sphincter. 

“Oh fuck.”

 

explodes in a riot of pain 

riot of agony

 

“ Fuck,” John swore again. His eyes went wide and he pulled at the straps holding him to the bed. Sherlock stayed put, one finger up John’s (burning, holy fuck) arse and his lips still closed around his flagging erection.

Sherlock dragged his finger in and out, and every movement spread the ointment further. The bastard was probably doing that on purpose. He added another finger, and the pressurestretchfullness of it was lost in the overwhelming burn. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, stop.” John’s eyes were watering, and his legs spasmed with the urge to get away.

Sherlock kept mouthing at his now-flaccid cock, not sucking so much as licking and nuzzling it as his fingers continued torturing John. John was regretting ever agreeing to this, and at this very moment, he was dangerously close to regretting ever meeting Sherlock bloody Holmes.

And then

Oh, and then the most curious thing happened. Sherlock’s fingers brushed against his prostate, and it still bloody hurt. Oh Jesus, did it fucking hurt. But bright starbursts of pleasure ricocheted through him, and John found himself spreading his legs wider, whimpering and grinding down on Sherlock’s fingers.

Sherlock gasped. He looked at John as though he were amazing, and he did that thing with his fingers again, and then again.

He fingered John, and John’s erection made a damn good attempt at a comeback, straining to life through the pain singing along his nerve endings. John bit his lip and immediately regretted it, gasping as the fire on his lips immediately spread to his tongue and filled his mouth, coating his throat. He whined, and Sherlock moaned.

And then Sherlock started talking. “John,” he groaned, and he sounded as wrecked as John felt, as though he were the one being taken apart from the inside out. “John John John,” he babbled. “You’re so beautiful like this. My John. Mine.”

He was saying nothing and using so many words to do it. He looked rapturous and lost. John was flying and falling.

Sherlock started working him faster, pistoning his fingers in and out, scraping along his prostate—and between that and the twisted, obsessive devotion pouring out of his mouth, John came with a gurgled shout. And the orgasm was fire, it was burning, and it hurt as much as it helped.

Sherlock pressed their lips together, and the fire spread.

 

 

"Of course I want you. You have no idea how delicious you look, helpless like this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“And?” There was an edge in Sherlock’s voice. 

John turned sharply. "Pardon me, I forgot for a moment that the entire _fucking_ world revolved around you." 

Suddenly Sherlock was in his face. "You _need_ something to revolve around.  You are _incapable_ of creating meaning in an ordinary life on your own, I could see that from the first hour I spent with you.”  He was nearly spitting. “I hope for your sake that your next flatmate is a desperately lost cause so that you can spare yourself some years of aimless drifting.”  Sherlock’s voice had risen loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to hear.

"Fuck you, Sherlock,” John hissed. Something was fraying inside of him, pushing out of his chest and up his throat. "You are a cancer in the life of every person who knows you.  I wish that I didn’t know you.  I wish to God I’d never _met_ you-”

A deafening pop startled him and John watched as the pieces of the of the mug Sherlock had hurled onto the floor skittered across the wood.

When John finally looked back up into Sherlock's face, the expression he saw clearly reflected froze him to his spot.  

For long moments after Sherlock’s bedroom door had slammed shut, John remained where he was and stared at it, breathing heavily, his mind turning one fact over and over again.

_He hates me._

The thought made John oddly jittery.  No.  Not jittery.   _Giddy._

He sat down in his chair and rubbed his eyes before steepling his hands in front of his face. 

_Just because you make each other miserable doesn't mean anything._

He pressed his thumbs hard into the bridge of his nose.

 _Yes it does_ , a small voice whispered to him.

The giddiness returned and he viciously attempted to ignore it, suppress it, until he realised it'd gone dark outside and he could hear rain.

He looked up in the direction of Sherlock's room again, his heart hammering.

_Don't._

But he was already getting out of his chair.  

Terror whited out his mind as he pushed Sherlock's door open, his hand shaking a bit on the knob as he pulled it shut behind him.

Sherlock was a dark, silent shape against the headboard.

John took careful steps towards the mattress and sat down on the edge; the rain had picked up outside and now tapped loudly against the window panes.

“I didn’t mean,” John began in a high, thin voice, then stopped and tried again.  “You’re not...” John trailed off and put his hand on his face, squeezing his eyes shut tight enough to see bursts of color. “I don’t want to leave.” The last part fell out of him in a rushed whisper. 

Everything in the room took on a surreal quality as John waited for Sherlock to respond.

Sherlock didn’t say a word. 

John jerked upwards off the bed, but Sherlock’s hand closed around his wrist in an iron grip and pulled him back.

John moved towards him before he realised what he was doing, crawling back onto the mattress and touching him clumsily, an involuntary sound slipping out when Sherlock’s mouth covered his.

John was pushed onto his back and as Sherlock nimbly unbuttoned his shirt, John fumbled with the buttons on Sherlock’s before working open his trousers, pulling all of Sherlock’s weight on top of him as Sherlock struggled to get John's undershirt over his head.

_You’ll never be able to leave._

Sherlock's heavy hips began dragging over John’s, and John grit his teeth.

_You could move to Australia.  You could never speak to him again.  But you'd still be here._

Sherlock’s prick stiffened and John groaned into Sherlock’s mouth, clinging to him. 

_This is a room with no door._

Sherlock's mouth attached to John’s neck, and John's eyes closed as his head dropped back onto the pillow.

_But not for him._

John opened his eyes, going a bit still, even as Sherlock moved his mouth sloppily down John’s chest.

_He’ll get bored._

Sherlock viciously worked John’s pants and trousers down and off of him and then he was hovering over John again, staring down in the faint light into his eyes, touching his face.  

_And what will you do when that happens?_

John’s vision blurred and he abruptly rolled over onto his stomach.  Sherlock was completely still behind him.

John took a deep breath and reached blindly back for Sherlock’s hand, tugging it to no avail. He tugged again, a bit more forcefully, and Sherlock’s hand went stiff in his grasp.

“It’s going to hurt you.” 

John heard the muted panic in Sherlock's voice and ran his thumb gently over the inside of Sherlock's wrist.  “I know.”  

Later, when the head of Sherlock's cock was inside of him, John found himself pushing back too quickly even though the pain made him gasp.  He wanted the pain.  When his arse finally touched Sherlock's groin, he felt Sherlock adjusting his slippery hands on John's hips before moving again.  As they started fucking, the pain fell away, leaving behind a blind and senseless need that compelled John to reach back to feel Sherlock's hands, his knees, his legs, any part of him within reach, any part that John could touch-

Suddenly Sherlock pulled John upright, gripping him tightly around his ribs, his chest hot against John's back.  

John felt like he was being cut wide open.

“Don’t leave.” Sherlock’s voice was a choked whisper in his ear. 

For a moment John could not speak.  His nose and eyes stung sharply, and when he blinked, it made his eyelashes wet. “I won’t.” 

Sherlock’s hold on him tightened.  

_But you will._

 

 

 

 

 

 

From LynLarsh fic

 

 

 

cock musk description from PuffleLock's Top lock fic And from Hubblegleeflower fic

Get description of coming on another plane of existence from gizmotrinket

 

 

LynnLarsh 

“Oh fuck, Sherlock, please…” John panted into his ear, legs wrapped around Sherlock’s waist as he pounded harder, faster, deeper into John’s willing---so willing, so, so finally willing---arse, each thrust causing John to clench beautifully around him. “More, Sherlock. Just a bit more?” The way his voice lifted at the end like a question almost did Sherlock in right there, his submission even now, going far beyond the sex, far beyond his own needs, his own desires. As if Sherlock, finally and completely, came first, mattered more than anyone else.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock groaned, slipping John’s knees over his shoulders and thrusting just that much deeper, slapping against him with the force of it. John’s mouth fell openly deliciously when he came, Sherlock beyond the will to deny himself the claiming of that mouth, kissing John’s cries away, muffling them down his own throat. “Yes, John, yes,” Sherlock moaned as he jerked against John’s tense, unbelievably tight form, and buried himself to the hilt, filling his John to the brim with his seed, his ownership, his love. So much love, pouring out sticky and hot between them.

John let his legs fall to the bed, chest heaving with blissful satisfaction, lazy with it, beautiful for it. “I got to do that all the time?” John licked his lips, chuckling breathily, and Sherlock had to remind himself that this wasn’t their first time, this was one of many, many times he’d taken John like this. And when it was John’s turn to take him, that would be far from their first as well. In the back of his mind, Sherlock mourned the loss of a shared first experience, but he abandoned it quickly. To John, this was both his first and his umpteenth time being thoroughly ravaged by Sherlock, and it wouldn’t be his last. That’s what mattered. That’s what mattered.

“Does that surprise you?” Sherlock grinned, nuzzling into John’s neck and kissing at the hollow behind his ear. John blushed.

“A little bit, yeah,” he replied softly, smiling shyly. “It felt like I’d never done that before, like my body couldn’t process the experience. It was just too overwhelming. Too brilliant all at once.”

“I’m just that good,” Sherlock purred, kissing John deeply before rolling off the bed to grab a towel.

“I guess so,” John chuckled, but it sounded distant again. Why did he keep sounding distant? Eventually, once Sherlock had returned and cleaned them both up as best he could, John whispered, “Why’d you call me your flatmate earlier?”

Sherlock had considered this. A minor mishap easily corrected. “The Detective Inspector doesn’t like to admit it, but he suffers from no little amount of homophobia. We’d decided to keep our relationship from him until he seemed willing to accept it.” Sherlock brushed John’s sweat clumped fringe from his brow and kissed him there. “So flatmates.”

“Right,” John nodded, settling further against Sherlock, already drifting away. “He didn’t seem the homophobic type.”

“They rarely do,” Sherlock mumbled against John’s forehead.

 

 

 

Jadztone fic

 

John’s fingers paused on one of the buttons, and he found himself curling them until he was fisting the fabric.  Was it really only yesterday that they’d come home to find her in Sherlock’s bed?  John looked over at it.  When he was putting the sheets on yesterday, he never would have guessed that he’d be in them tonight.  The whole thing still felt like a dream.  How many times had he fantasised about this? 

John continued to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt.  “You mentioned you did research on positions.  What did you find out?”  He finished with the buttons and smoothed his hand up Sherlock’s chest, skating his fingers over a nipple on the way back down.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure.  “Mmm…it said that first timers may prefer to start out straddling their top so they can have control over the penetration.”

John licked his lips as he thought about it.  “I guess I can understand that.  It makes sense.  I just...don’t know if that’s what I want to do the first time.”  He curled his hands over Sherlock’s shoulders, drawing his shirt down his arms until it dropped to the floor.  “I trust you, Sherlock.  I know you’ll be able to read me.  I know you’ll control yourself so you won’t hurt me.  I’m honestly glad the first time I’m doing this is with you.  I can’t imagine anyone else who would be able to take care of me the way you would.”

Sherlock gave him that smile that said John confirmed something he had deduced.  He cupped John’s face.  “I will, John.  I will take care of you.”  He peeled off John’s cardigan, then began on his shirt. He only undid a few buttons and then directed John to lift his arms so he could pull it over his head.  He ran his hands up and down John’s arms, then back up to his shoulders.  He gently massaged the muscle there.  John moaned a little.  “Let’s get our trousers off.  I want you on the bed.”

John eagerly complied.  When they were both down to their pants, Sherlock gave him a long, sensual kiss, and then whispered, “Lie down for me, John.  On your stomach, please.”

John shivered as he climbed onto the bed, face down and stretched out.  This was everything he’d dreamed of.  He felt the bed dip as Sherlock joined him.  He straddled John, just below his arse, so that his cock was nestled between John’s arse cheeks.  John shivered again, stilling only when he felt Sherlock’s hands on his back, massaging him.  His hands seemed to be everywhere.  Carding through his hair, stroking his neck, gliding along his spine.  He could also occasionally feel Sherlock’s lips caressing his skin.  John felt like he could melt right into the sheets.

One of Sherlock’s hands massaged his arse, and then the fingers were dipping lower.  He felt it the moment when Sherlock found the base of the plug and pressed gently against it. John’s body spasmed at the sensation.  Sherlock draped over his back and rained kisses over his scalp.  His lips pressed against John’s ear, and he whispered, “May I take it out?” 

John nodded, and Sherlock kissed him along his neck, his hand stroking down his back to return to his arse.  Sherlock was gentle in removing the plug, but John shuddered all the same at both the sensation and the thought of how delightfully obscene it was that Sherlock was doing this. 

Sherlock sat up, and John immediately missed the feel of his warm body.  He understood why in a moment, when he heard the snick of what had to be a bottle of lube.  “John, I’m going to insert a finger to see for myself how stretched out you are, if that’s alright.”

John nodded again, thrilling at the notion.  He’d certainly enjoyed the plugs, but they were inanimate objects.  When he felt Sherlock’s well-lubricated finger slide in, it felt incredibly intimate.  After a few moments, he’d found John’s prostate, gently brushing against it.  “ _Sherlock_ ,” he moaned.

Sherlock rubbed John’s back with his other hand.  “This feels wonderful, John.  I’m touching a part of you that no one else has.  I know that I shouldn’t be pleased by this.  It’s remarkably possessive.  Nonetheless…”

John moaned a little louder at the feeling of Sherlock exploring him.  “I can hardly judge, Sherlock.  I feel honoured that I’m the only one you’ve wanted to experience this with.”

Sherlock curled up next to John.  “I’m completely yours, John.  I’m the one that’s honoured.”  He placed his hand on John’s shoulder and eased him so that he was on his side facing Sherlock.  “I thought we could lay here for a while, touching and tasting each other.  I need you to touch me, John.”

John felt overwhelmed by this plea.  As if he could ever reject it.  He ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s flank, admiring his perfect alabaster skin and the incongruity of soft flesh over hard muscle, reveling over the way those same muscles twitched at the contact of John’s fingers.  “Oh Sherlock, there are so many things that I cannot wait to do with you.” 

He leaned over and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue.  At the same time his hand wandered down to Sherlock’s cock and gently stroked it.  Sherlock whimpered, and he combed his fingers through John’s hair, nuzzling it with his nose as John continued to lave at the hardened nub.  “I love your hair, John.  I’ve been secretly trying to catalogue how many shades of color I can find in it.”

John smiled.  “So you weren’t shamming when you wrote that comment on my blog?”

He could feel Sherlock shake his head.  “Nope.”

John tilted his head back, so that their noses collided, and he pressed a kiss into Sherlock’s gorgeous lips.  “I wasn’t shamming about your eyes.  God, they’re mesmerizing.  I have to force myself not to get lost in them.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks went pink, and he tried to fight a smile.  He pulled John into a tighter embrace, kissing him with fervour.  His hands wandered down to John’s arse, taking obvious delight in massaging the cheeks.  His fingers occasionally sweeping down to his arsehole, probing gently. 

John felt his heart hammer in his chest.  “Sherlock.  I want… _please_.”

Sherlock’s smile was both fond and wicked.  He gently pushed against John’s shoulder, directing him to lay on his back.  As Sherlock knelt between his legs, John couldn’t help but smile as he realised that Sherlock had deduced the position that he really wanted.  The bit earlier about riding him was obviously Sherlock’s way of saying that he wouldn’t have minded if John needed to be in control.  But he knew the truth.  Somehow, he _knew_ that John wanted the opposite. 

Most of his sexual encounters had been him in charge.  It seemed as if most of the women he dated were attracted to his soldier persona and wanted him to dominate them in the bedroom.  Which was fine, he certainly enjoyed it.  He looked forward to it with Sherlock.  But he’d always longed for the chance to cede control to someone else.  To be penetrated, vulnerable.  It was the ultimate act of faith.  This was what he hadn’t felt comfortable telling Sherlock during that discussion about bottoming.  But Sherlock had deduced it anyways.  John didn’t always like it when Sherlock could read him so well, but in this instance it was perfect. 

Sherlock was once again probing.  This time with two fingers, stretching and stroking.  He was also stroking John’s cock with his other hand, occasionally bending down to apply his mouth to it.  John felt overwhelmed by all the sensation, worried a little that he would come soon.  “Sherlock, _please_.  I’m ready.  Just…I want you inside me when I come.”

Sherlock withdrew his fingers.  He reached for a condom and rolled it onto his cock, and John felt his anticipation spike.  Then Sherlock covered John’s body with his, kissing him, whispering his name over and over.  He was shaking slightly, and John knew he was nervous.  John stroked his back, “You’re doing wonderfully, love.  I trust you.  Please…”

Sherlock used his hand to position his cock at John’s entrance.   He massaged at the hole with the head, and John could feel that he’d put copious amounts of lube on it.  It was obviously more blunt than the plugs had been, but John made himself relax.  Sensing that some of John’s tension had eased, Sherlock inserted the head, stopping once it was in.  John trembled at the pain.  He looked up at Sherlock, who was propped up on his elbows and looked absolutely wrecked.  John lovingly stroked his shoulders and arms.  They had now entered uncharted territory and both were overcome by it.

When the pain subsided, John nodded for him to keep going.  It went on like this, Sherlock inching his way inside, paying attention to John’s cues.  In a matter of time, Sherlock was fully seated, and John felt triumphant.  Sherlock was panting in his ear, groaning his name.  John squeezed his shoulder.  “We did it, babe. It’s good.  I just..I need you to move.  I need to feel you.  Feel more.  _Please_.”

Sherlock groaned again, shuddering.  He started to thrust, slowly at first, then picking up speed at John’s encouragement.  John wrapped his legs around Sherlock, his knees up high by his armpits.  He felt Sherlock try out a few different angles, until he found the one that reliably hit John’s prostate.  The brilliant sensations had John cursing, but even that quickly became incoherent.  Sherlock seemed to manage a litany of “John!” and “Fuck!” over and over in between panting kisses. 

For a while, John was content to let his cock slide between their two thrusting bodies, but when his orgasm started to build, so did his need to feel more pressure.  He eased his right leg down so he could better reach his cock, and took hold of it.  Sherlock looked down at what he was doing, and his breath hitched, obviously turned on at the sight of his cock thrusting in and out as John simultaneously jerked himself off.  Sherlock buried his head in John’s shoulder, and he felt the stuttering motion of his body.  He knew this was a sign that Sherlock was close to coming himself. 

Following an instinct, John breathed, “Sherlock, I want you to sit up and fuck me harder.”  Sherlock gasped and John knew he had got it right.  Sherlock sat up, grasping John’s hips as he started thrusting more forcefully.  He was staring down at John’s cock, his panting increased as he was more turned on than ever.  John felt him seize up and hunch over, his hips stuttering as his orgasm overtook him. 

John sped up his hand as he stared into the beautiful face of the man he loved, who was experiencing the sensation of coming inside someone for the first time.  It triggered his own release, and he was shouting as fluid shot everywhere.  This time it landed on his own face.  Sherlock stared, transfixed, his hips slowly coming to a stop.  

John took his hand and pulled him back down until Sherlock was lying on top of him again.  He stroked Sherlock’s back, knowing that he would need some time to come down from such a spike in hormones.  He himself was feeling overwhelmed.  Tears pricked his eyes, and he didn’t fight it.  He squeezed his eyes shut as his body wracked with a sob.  John felt Sherlock lift his head and then his thumb wipe at one of his tears.  Sherlock kissed another one, in the same way that John had kissed his tears at New Year’s.  Realizing now that they must have been genuine, John felt another sob shudder through him. 

Sherlock was raining kisses all over his face.  “John, I love you so much.  _So much_.”

Eventually, Sherlock eased out his softened cock, and John rolled them so that they were side by side.  “We need to clean up, love.”  He made to get up, but Sherlock stayed him with his hand.  He disposed of his used condom and then went to the bathroom to fetch a flannel.  With gentleness and reverence, he cleaned John off, and he never felt so loved as in that moment.  Sherlock climbed into the bed and gathered John to him, and they both clung to each other as they succumbed to sleep.


End file.
